The Definiton of Pure and Dark
by Anonymousguy101
Summary: This is the third installment of my 'The Twisted Timelines of Junior' series. This is the first main story, though, because the prvious two were the prolouge and an interlude that was really just a head's-up for future reference because they will be used liberally in the future. Anyway, summary inside. Go to 'The Existance of Our Worlds and Thoughts' if you haven't yet done so.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Alright, I hope that you found this all right. I mean, it is 1) a crossover, 2) published after a break, & 3) only a single fanfic within a large heap of many thousands.**

**Now, we all know that there will be a bit of a mini-cliffhanger in the time between Junior and the gang back in the TARDIS, trying to decide their next move of action, whether it be against the Styx again, or the Daleks and Sontarans. Of course, there is no way that their group could divide and conquer. Or is there…**

**Don't bet on it.**

**Also, remember how I mentioned that there was a plan of action? That was my cliffhanger. You really don't think I'll just tell you, or forget about it, do you? Seriously, I have been meaning to clear several details up, and the greater portion has been already cleared up. I think. Anyway, details will be cleared up later. And, this story's timeline involves Rumplestiltskin knowing Peter Pan not as his father, but a different thing. Probably not his relative, though, unless he's his, like, 15 times great-grandfather. Although, I doubt I could ever pull that off without making it obvious that I directly intended to make it convenient for just that purpose. Seriously, it wouldn't blend well with this world's philosophy. Which, actually, is much more different than you realize…**

**Seriously, you will understand it all later.**

**Summary: This is the first stop Junior, a human, timelord and TARDIS hybrid, makes on his long journey of his timeline. He will be journeying across time and space, helping and influencing, creating timelines that wouldn't be possible without him. And, trust me on this, there will be action, probably romance- of every sort- and this is rated T for violent actions and the like. Follow Junior as he meets Peter Victor, the first Dark One, Rumplestiltskin, Emma, Henry, and many, many more people and characters. You might even see some new faces!**

**Okay, disclaimer time: I do not own 'Once Upon a Time' or 'Doctor Who', or any show or whatnot that I hint at in this fanfic. This will be likely a long one, because, as mentioned before, it details about three millennia plus some extra years.**

**Note that Junior's POV will be used, even if I am writing in third person. Excuse me if I accidentally slip up once or twice, but that's just what I get for not having a beta reader… I probably should get one. Well, I don't think I know anyone who would read a story with chapters this long unless they've read a story with Inheritance Cycle length chapters- at their longest- or longer. I know, there actually are books with longer chapters, I've heard.**

**PS: Read and review. But mostly the review part. I expect some criticism, and I will not tolerate flames, but I will tolerate haters with some human decency. There is a distinct, fine line between them for me, so yeah. So, yeah, on that note, ON WITH MY FANFIC!**

**The Definition of Pure and Dark: Chapter 1 (1****st**** Person, Junior)**

The violent roaring in my ears is all I hear. I shut my eyes, because the light is blinding. I can literally feel like I should be going unconscious, but I feel something inside me preventing it. I have the sense that it would only lead to my untimely death. And I know from the TARDIS that there is much more that I have to do. Because, in the last moments I was above that pyramid, she was reanimating me once again, unlocking my genetic lock that had been holding back my regeneration for the right time.

No, not regeneration, I remembered. I rebuild, like a regular TARDIS. The only difference is that I use regeneration energy instead of a living metal tree that grows machine parts to reconstruct my body's parts. And I'm doing that right now, even as I travel to… well, I don't know.

I keep my eyes closed as I use my extensive mental capabilities to look around. All I see are odd, spherical shapes, filled with pure energy. Not just any type of energy, though, but the energy that makes matter and life possible. The energy that makes regeneration possible, as well as the unnatural extra regenerations a timelord can gain if they so desire and are willing to kill to survive.

Although, then again, most timelords are willing. I'm of course an exception to this rule, as well as the Doctor, and for similar reasons: we both wouldn't kill just to gain an extra hundred years of life, plus I'm not exactly a timelord. Even he was disowned by them, so that technically applies in its own way.

I extend my thoughts again, trying to "see" more, and I find a… well, a wall. A curving, sphere enclosing wall… which I was flying straight toward, head-on, and at great speed. And I can't even react, I reach it so quickly. Then…

Nothing's different. Except, I feel like I'm being pushed and pulled along at the same time as I strain to go faster. The sensation is over as soon as it started, and I feel the spherical orbs' presence, but this time there's something off. Something's different. I know it, for sure. But I again barely have time to register it as I am plunged head-on into one of the orbs.

I loose feeling of the orbs, but I feel the presence of time, which feels comforting, and yet… unnerving. _Because I have absolutely no idea what is in store for me in this universe_, I decide.

I open my eyes, considering it safe to do so, now that the blinding light of the Void- if that is possible at all- is gone. The sight that confronts my eyes in one that I do not understand at all.

All around me, there is pulsing, flowing time energy, all organized in strands of fibrous ropes. To my left, there are the faint images of distant stars, galaxies, and… people. People I think I know who they are. Like the universe revolved around them. Which it does, in many various ways that I know of.

To my right, there is a tunnel-like structure- this universe's time vortex. _Why is there both a vortex and this… time field? Surely there isn't need of both?_ I thought to myself, but then I realized why that was wrong: because the universe revolves around the vortex of certain individuals. That time vortex was a specific timeline, of which if I entered it I would be permanently dismantled and scattered throughout like temporal confetti.

Back to my left, the images appear and disappear. They appear, like tears in time and space, like looking glasses into the past, present and future. Then one of them opens in front of me. Everything keeps happening so fast I can't even react to it. Not like I had control over it.

I fell inside the crack, and fear the searing pain of the explosion that hurled me out of the Tunnels-verse in the first place, finally catching up with me. My eyes are stuck open, but I don't see anything. My gut burns, and my entire body feels like it's made of lead. The energy holding me ceases flow, and I hear a gasp somewhere near me.

I can't move though, despite the fact that I can see. I can't even blink, and when I try to speak my lips don't move, air doesn't come out of my airway. My hearts don't feel like they're beating, and I don't breath. My thoughts come through my subconscious like cold syrup out of its bottle, slow and thick, not even really much like what I would consider, more like what I observe.

And what I observe is something rather terrifying. I see the forest. Only the forest, endless trees and clearings, some streams along the rolling hills. I stand atop a hill in a clearing, the trees around me barely obscuring the larger, much taller hills and mini-sized mountains that the forest grows on. It is nighttime, and the stars all shine brightly, the constellations alien and unknown to me. I think of one name, knowing what I see is definitely not where I would want to be. _The Enchanted Forest_, I think, slowly, thickly, knowingly.

At first I would figure I was alone; but then a stick broke. Something else is lurking in the shadows.

_Not something, someone_, I realize as the shadowy figure steps into the pale moonlight. And the person I see is definitely someone I would've ran away from if I could've. He's worse than the Dark One, knows more about the past of everyone than even Henry, and seemed… younger than in the series.

Pan. Peter Pan.

But I don't feel any ability to react. I bet I would've if I could've, and I know that if I had had the ability to run Pan would've been in a dust cloud a mile long in seconds- metaphorically speaking, that is. I can't break the sound barrier.

The younger Peter walks up to me, gingerly, carefully, as if he believes if he gets too close I'll maul him like a werewolf. Today, I would laugh at the thought of Ruby having mauled him to pieces, torn his body to shreds, and not even taken a piece for a snack. I bet that if she knew everything he had done, combined with the fact that it was Pan who had helped start it all going downhill, she would've done so. Maybe not, though. He may be evil shrouded in a cloud of anger and mood swings, but he still was human, even if his sanity didn't reflect that.

He walks up within arm's length of me, and stops. Peter stares for a moment, and I have time to take in the differences, albeit subtle ones, between him now and later, in Neverland.

Peter wears a light tan shawl over his shoulders, a short-sleeved tunic underneath extending past his waist. He has a belt with multiple different tools attached, such as various sized hunting knives, a cutlass-like sword with an ornate handle and grip, and an empty sack, which likely was for food he was trying to hunt for.

Again, Peter stepped forward a step, and reached out to touch me. "It's just a statue," he muttered to himself, though I could still hear him. His voice was slightly higher than it would be in the future, but still had that Peter Pan signature tone: steeled up, coarse and distant, his only way of displaying any sort of emotion. "Just a metal statue in the middle of the forest, that came out of nowhere in a flash of blue light," Peter tried to reassure himself, but of course he sounded panicky. You couldn't blame him, though, because I was probably dressed way wrong for this world, my clothes of course also being made of metal but still reflecting that I didn't belong. Besides, would you be surprised to find a metal statue in the middle of the Enchanted Forest? I would assume so.

I don't feel his hand on my chest because of the fact that I'm still made of metal, but he tries to pull his hand back like you would when you touch a severely hot plate, the kind that burns badly. And hence the phrase _he tries_. His hand is stuck to me like glue.

Then I feel the searing pain, and things start to go by in a blur. Peter doesn't manage to get his hand of my chest, but he does manage to accidentally get his other hand stuck to his forearm as he tries to pull his hand away. Static energy fills the air, and the lingering morning mist that floats about in the night to become dew come morning starts to condense and swirl around us.

Time feels like it slows to a near-halt, and the crackling of loud, roaring thunder-like sounds emanates from around us, the mist thickening and becoming bolder in a flash of light within. The white fog starts to change color, to pink and purple and green and deep grey, like the Dark Curse come early.

The fog around me and Peter is not coming closer, but it spirals faster and faster as winds whip around, energy spiraling in an endless tornado. I think we might've lifted off the ground, but I wouldn't know. I couldn't see the ground where we stood before the mist had thickened, and I couldn't see it now. Not that it mattered. Those details all make it more dramatic.

Today, I would laugh at the concept of me being a distant extension to my few Greek ancestors. Although, the Greeks invented tragedy, and they invented dramatic theater. My life has always been filled with some sort of drama, so I wouldn't be too surprised if the multiverse had long ago decided to made fun of me with it. What a sick joke, but it makes so much sense and it is sadly so true.

But those thoughts are wiped from my mind as the mist begins to clear up. I feel the air rushing past, but it isn't as potent as it should've been, like my body was being brought back to the living flesh, but slowly, so I still had a ways to go. Peter was looking around, eyes darting everywhere, because we were still stuck in place. I remember a certain ex-Dicepticon saying something about if you move while quantum-bouncing, you might just die.

Around us, there was sky to my right, sea to my left below us. Peter seemed extremely startled, and things were probably going slow-motion for him, his heart was racing so much. I could tell it wasn't mine, because I still had yet to feel either of mine pulse. I had little time to wait, though, when the metal coating on my body dissipated in a golden-bronze colored dust, scattering in the wind, left behind.

My hearts both restart automatically, racing along at twice normal speed, and I gasp for breath loudly all of the sudden, not of my own accord. I scared Peter, though, and he most definitely didn't seem too thrilled that I was now a living, breathing person. The droning winds carried the two of us so fast we would've missed it had I not looked forward- which was actually up to me or Peter, because we were flying through the air on our sides, although we were spinning around in something oddly equivalent to a dance.

The island before us looms large. I know that I should either be thrilled or be ready to kill myself when I next get the chance. It comes in fast as the two of us slow down to crawl as we both land, smoky mist enveloping us for a quick second, on the shore. The mist itself vaporizes, and, finally able to think straight and stand on my own accord, I feel nauseous, more than a little tired, and rather faint.

I just pass out right there within seconds, Peter himself looking fine and dandy during the split-second I manage to get a glimpse of him before I lose consciousness.

I don't dream, but I still felt like I could reach out to my surroundings while I slept. I saw Neverland, but not the timeless place it was supposed to be. It still flowed with time, but the belief part… it still worked. Imagining that I was alone, in the middle of the forest somewhere safe, I made my personal wish come true. Although, when I woke up, the first part wasn't exactly true anymore.

Coming to, I smelt something cooking, which immediately doused my wishes of isolation. Opening my eyes, I saw what looked just like Pan's clearing when the Lost Boys inhabited it in the future, but it seemed… less developed, and more like it would have been like before me and Peter had arrived.

I was on the ground, back against an angled tree base. The air smelled, beside the cooking stew, like freshly chopped wood and wood smoke, which were some-what welcoming. Blinking the bright spots my eyes when I looked directly at the burning fire, which was bright but still of smaller size, I groaned a bit when I moved my stiff neck muscles.

"Well, look who's finally awake," Peter teased. But it didn't seem dark when he talked; it actually sounded friendly. He looked back down at his stew and continued stirring. "I'm not surprised you're all sore. You've been out quite a while."

_Just play along until you can leave_, I told myself. "Yeah, I guess so," I say. My voice sounds the tiniest bit deeper than it did before I came here, like I hadn't used it for a long while. My mouth was dry and my tongue felt like sandpaper. I sat up straighter, my back just as sore as my neck. I rolled my neck to loosen it up. The sound that emanated didn't exactly sound good, or even much like it would for a normal human. A metallic _clang _sounded when I popped my neck muscles.

Peter looked back up from the stew he was stirring with a confused expression on his face. "Don't ask, because I don't know the answer myself," I tell him. Things just keep getting weirder and weirder for me, and this is only going to make my life more and more different, bound to never change.

"I think it might have to do with the fact that you were made of metal before," Peter remarked thoughtfully, still stirring the stew. I have no idea how he multitasks like that, but he still does it fantastically. "What are you, to have appeared in a burst of light, been made of metal, somehow brought me here, and then become flesh?" he finally asked after a moment of awkward, pondering silence. Peter looked at me expectantly for an answer.

I laugh a little at the question, and shake my head a bit. "Something not even the most knowledgeable people from your world could identify," I vaguely explain.

"That's not the answer I was looking for," Peter retorted as he turned to grab something behind him. He pulled out two bowls and poured some of the stew into each one. He walks over and hands me one of the bowls and sits next to me with his. "I saw that… thing on your wrist." He acts a little weirded out by it, but of course he hasn't ever seen electronics, and even then anyone who saw it would still feel that it was an unusual sight. Of course it was. Trying to ignore the memory that probably will leave a bit of a scar in the future, Peter blew away some of the steam from the bowl of stew and drank it all at once.

"Oh, that," I say, "well, you should have seen that it's attached to my skin." I bring my own bowl up to lips and slurp some of it myself. Not exactly as tasty as it smelled, but at least it wasn't inedible. It feels hot and soothing for my sore throat, which is a plus. "While I may look more or less like a regular human, I'm not exactly human anymore," I say.

"I don't get it," Peter says after a moment to think. He sighs. "Not like I'll get any sort of decent answer from you," he remarks as he stands up.

I down the rest of my stew and stand up myself, using the tree to help myself get up, my legs are so stiff. Rolling my shoulders a bit so they create a rolling metallic din, Peter arches an eyebrow. "You know you are really, really strange, don't you?" he remarks.

"Probably," I admit. Then I get a weird idea. I hold up my left arm and hit it with enough force not to hurt myself, but enough to create a low metallic hum. "Humph, figures," I retort.

Peter shakes his head and rolls his eyes like he just had his point about me probably still being metal on the inside still holding true. Peter shakes off the thought and extends his hand. "I'm Peter, by the way."

"I'm Junior," I reply, shaking his hand. Apparently hand-shakes are the best way to greet anyone just about everywhere. "And I already knew that, Peter Pan," I added without changing my expression.

At this he looks confused. "My name is not Peter Pan, just the first name," he corrects me.

I mentally face-palm. _I need to be careful of what I say and do, or some things will all be messed up in the order of events_, I think to myself. "Sorry, never mind that," I apologize.

"What did you mean when you said that?"

I try to think of a decent explanation that isn't necessarily a lie, but more like a stretched truth. "I'm sort of a Seer. I see the future, past and present, but I can't sense everything they can the way they do," I explain, letting my instincts take over without realizing they do. "They see time as a puzzle in the future, but I see set paths, with less distinct blurs of what might be if something changes." I finish, and Peter not-yet-Pan looks more confused than he did before. "You are someday called Pan," I add.

"Never heard of a Seer, but that sounds like the Dark Prophetess," Peter remarks. "She lives near my village, just over the hill you were facing, actually," he adds thoughtfully.

I take this for surprise at first, but then I think to stop myself from asking too many questions. _So, they don't have Seers, but they have this Dark Prophetess, who probably is a Seer anyway_, I think to myself. "Does she have no eyes to her face?" I ask him.

He seems taken aback a first, then replies, "Yes, the Dark Prophetess has her eyes removed; her face is brutally stitched where they should go, and the remains mounted on her palms."

I grimace at the image that comes to mind: a grown woman, bloody-looking flesh covered in stitches, blood-shot eyes gazing at everything before them whilst they glow with power, seeing not the space before them but instead at time itself. Then I remember the poor girl, the Seer Rumplestiltskin met- or meets, actually- and then remember what she looks like grown up, likely in her late twenties, rather pretty save for her missing eyes. Less frightening than she was when she was a child, but still just as powerful, if not more. Likely the latter was true, though- power tends to accompany age. Something I've learned many times, in many ways, throughout my years.

Coming back out of my thoughts, but I see Peter staring again. But, his eyes look clouded, his gaze dazed and faltering. Then, a couple seconds later, he comes out of it, blinking rapidly and shaking his head to clear his mind, but something's still… not quite right. The predominant thing on his mind- concern towards me, but also greatly himself, with a dash of regret and the thought that everyone who's in over their head thinks: 'What did I get myself into?'

_Oh great, I've done it again_, I realize when I recognize the expression as the same one Rose and pretty much everyone who had heard my blaring thoughts in Terra Cultis had on their faces.

"You've got that look, that expression, on your face," I say.

Peter faces me, and looks confused. "What expression?"

"That expression most people get when I accidentally project my thoughts into someone else's head. You can't miss it, even if you've only seen it once or twice." I think for a moment, tan murmur to myself, "I've got to get that under control." Then I think, _Note to self: never think too much on one thing without checking that I'm not forcing my thoughts down people's metaphorical mental throats_. I make sure to follow that statement, by checking to make sure my thoughts aren't protruding into Peter's mind, and, sure enough and to my relief, they aren't.

Said future psychopath, however, is just confused again. I make another note-to-self to explain everything in detail eventually, slowly and in a decent way he can understand.

"I hear people's thoughts like I can hear your voice. Sadly, there's no way to stop it, at least that I know of as of yet, and I sometimes… force my thoughts into people's minds," I tell him. Peter steps back a half-step, trying to look surprised but really trying to just get a little further away. He's still confused, though. _Basic terms_, I remind myself.

_It's really me just overdoing my telepathy- communication by thought- Peter. PS: if you mentally scream you will regret it in the future. Somehow,_ I say to him over thought, extending my mind gently this time, not intrusively like before. _Just think a phrase and I can hear it._

Peter, jumps both mentally and physically, and- thankfully- doesn't mentally scream. He does, however, utter that weird high-pitch noise of surprise everyone tends to make whenever they're startled and they manage to not full-out scream, which is the kind of thing guys tend to do anyway. _You are… projecting you thoughts again, Junior_, he warns me over thought.

I realize I was, but this time I didn't notice, not even the slightest shift in his emotions of anything, which normally happens all the time, whether I project my thoughts onto others or not, but it has happened every time I did before. _Sorry, and I know you just heard my revelation, didn't you?_ I ask him.

"Yes," Peter replies out loud. "Why do you think mental conversation would be of any use?" he asks, thinking about what my possible intent for the action could be.

"Oh, for communication over longer than usual distances," I tell him, thinking the reason is useful.

"How great distances?" Peter asks.

"Possibly from here to the river at the furthest. Why do you ask?"

"I ask because it can help hunting, as well, for it requires no audible sound. We could be on either side of the forest, and still be able to warn the other if one of us gets a kill and the other still has his hunt to complete," he explains.

It's a clever idea. But then again… "We don't need to hunt, you know," I tell him.

Peter's looking at me like I'm crazy. Then he recomposes himself and asks, "Do you mean fishing?"

"No, not at all," I reply. Clearing my head, I hold my hands, and focus my thoughts. Closing my eyes, I think to myself, and whatever Neverland's consciousness is, _I believe that there is a baguette in my hands_.

Peter gasps, and I open my eyes, and sure enough, my loaf baguette bread appeared. I smile triumphantly. The loaf looks and smells fresh, radiating the smells of a bakery. "That's what I mean," I smugly reply to Peter, who is eying the bread loaf like it's the only food he's seen in decades. Of course, he's probably never had bread before.

I stretch out my arms, offering the loaf of bread to him. "Take it, I don't want it," I tell him.

He looks at me like I'm absolutely crazy to just be giving it away for free, but he cautiously takes it. "How did you manage to do that?" Peter asks.

"I know about this place. It runs off belief. The children of the world, most of the time without realizing it, journey here in their dreams, and manage to do whatever they desire. Of course, it's a little more difficult to do things when you're also here as a full person and not just your detached mind," I explain, trying to sound as simple as possible. "You believe in something being there, and it can appear," I add when he arches an eyebrow slightly.

Then I come up with a clever idea. I display a mixed memory. I first start with the memory of me creating the baguette. _Simply believe that something is in your hand or in front of you, and it will appear. Anything that obeys the laws of magic will suffice._

I shift gears to an imagined scene. I pictured someone trying to forcefully kill someone. _Believe in someone dying, it won't work. _Again, I change scenes. I show Rumplestiltskin and Belle, when the shadow- disguised as Belle- first steps out of the woods to show itself. _If you believe in someone you lost standing in front of you, everything you know about them will be condensed into an apparition of them. You can't ask them for something you don't know, because they only know what you know, especially what you knew about them._

I change scenes one last time. Again imagined, I picture someone who desperately- that's the only time when someone would probably want to do this unless they were ruthless thugs- wanted someone to love them. The man and woman, alone together at last, are in conversation, and the man really wants the woman he's wanted to get with for years to love him. Of course, she doesn't. Not that way. He believes that she loves him, too, but it isn't working. _Also, lastly, you can't just make someone fall in love with you. Though I doubt you need to know that, but it applies to the laws of magic._

I pull out of mental conversation, and Peter again has a bit of clouded expression, as if he is deep in thought and doesn't care what he looks like doing so. I sense he's holding back emotions, which he manages to do fairly well, but I catch a glimmer of… longing. The idea is odd, but I realize he's sad that the person he loved can't be of guidance to him now. I realize I'm gazing too deep into his thoughts, and he noticed.

"You're reading my thoughts again…" Peter remarks.

"Sorry, I couldn't help it. You had some sort of twisted, thoughtful expression that showed too much. It was more than memory, though, wasn't it?" I queue.

He's taken aback again. Then, his expression going from shocked to more astonishment and pleasantly surprised, he says, "You really don't know the half of it, do you? I lost someone, my mother, two winters ago, but I never got the chance to get to know my papa. I was only six years old when he died in a hunting accident." He seemed to choke on the last few words, and I realized he was close to tears, eyes already watery.

Realizing he was on the verge of breaking down, I try to cheer him up, getting a clever idea. "You know, I have family members to loose- my cousins, my aunts and uncles, my grandparents, my parents, not really my step sisters, but I guess them too. You only lost two parents. Think of that, and on top of that throw on every other distant relative to top it off, and you'll know what it should mean to me. I know they're still alive, but I still can't ever see them again, not like this." At the last few words, I indicate my body and point at my right wrist. "If you think you have it hard, consider what I have to go through. I have people who are alive and probably looking for me. Consider what it would be like if you were me."

Peter seemed a little more shocked at my words, and I can tell without reading his thoughts that he's thinking hard but trying not to give away that clouded, thoughtful look. But he's really failing at it. I roll my eyes as he realizes I'm waiting for an answer.

He struggles for words for a moment, and then says, "I think I would rather keep my own lonely life."

I smile a little sadly at the thought. "I figured you would say that."

The heart-warming moment ends when Peter realizes he's still holding the baguette. "I think we should save it. You never know if you can make it again," he says.

"Um, I don't think that-" I start to object, but he shoves the loaf into his draw-string bag, which still hangs around his waist. The bag doesn't even look filled when he does so. "How'd you do that?"

"The bag is enchanted to never fill up. I merely place as many items as I desire into the bag, and it does not get heavier. I know how to use some magic, just with my mother's spell book," Peter explains.

_That's how he knows how to use magic. Wait, he said he needs the spell book. _I pause for a moment, then realize what I'm saying doesn't make any sense. _Wait, of course, he breathes magic into the spell, and it does the rest_, I consider. I make sure to not let Peter hear my thoughts again this time, and I know it works.

"I think I know what you mean. I also think I should be able to do magic, as everyone can learn here," I remark. I look at the fire, which is going out, wood burnt out.

Peter looks in my direction. "I'll stoke the fire," he says.

"Wait, I have an idea," I tell him. "I think I know how to use magic to re-ignite the fire."

I walk over to the pit, past Peter, who had started walking forward before I had stopped him. I use the stick Peter had apparently been using earlier to stoke the fire, seeing as the tip was burnt. I toss around the ashes, and the fire is reduced to mere embers in no time. "Peter, put a couple logs in the pit," I instruct. "Please," I add quickly.

Peter does as I tell him, but he says, "I never managed to use magic without mother's spell book."

"I know, but anyone can use pre-created magic, they just need to exert the will to use it," I swiftly reply. Peter quickly finishes moving the three pieces of firewood into the pit, and I prepare to try to use magic for the first time.

I try the dark way first. Of course, it is the easiest path to learn, and I have seen it done, albeit on TV on a show I first thought was just fantasy, but really turned out to be the world I was currently in. Actually, close to, because Peter Pan was Rumplestiltskin's father in it. I focus hard on a grudge that I have only recently been able to gain: the Rebecca sisters. They have caused me enough trouble as it is. I feel energy flow, but no smoke or fire is created. I try harder, picturing myself pushing them forcefully into the inner world to be stranded forever, then just outright killing them. Neither of them works.

I groan in frustration. Now I think this fire is becoming my enemy. I smell no new smoke, don't see any either, and there isn't flames licking the wood. Then I gain a thought: what about trying to learn the harder way. I think about the options: think of something light, try some magic from another universe that would be able to hopefully work here, or try the belief thing, which always works. I decide to try the alternate universe idea first, because those also have been proven to work in the worlds they were used in.

"Brisingr," I say, pointing at the wood. Noting happens. Not even a wisp of smoke, or a flow of energy. "Zet!" I exclaim, but the same thing happens. "Istalrí! Naina hvitr istalrí un verma!" I throw my other world magic idea out the window. Thinking of something light is my next option. Which, I have no idea if it will work.

"Nothing is happening," Peter observed. "You have tried and failed to reignite the fire you wanted to let die, so I expect you- magically or not- to reignite it yourself. I will be back in a few moments. I bet you still will not have restarted it by the time I get back, though. If you somehow can, magically that is, then you get to be in charge of the two of us. We need a leader, despite the fact that we are only two, because it is obvious that we will bicker and butt heads eventually. So, if I win, I am the leader. If you win, you can be in charge. Deal?" he proposed.

I thought for a moment. If I lost, things would likely be sucky and Peter would never let me go of it. If I win, however, I can still make all the decisions, and it will likely fall on me, because he is likely fifteen, and I'm sixteen, to be in charge anyway because I am superior in age, and definitely in intellect of Neverland and magic and stuff. "Deal," I say, and we shake on it. "Get ready to be undermined, Peter," I tease.

"Oh, I'll make you regret those words when I win,' he retaliated. "I'll be back," he says, walking away to do whatever he had to do. He dropped and grabbed his hunting knife, so I assume he was going to find another rabbit, but in a few minutes? Seriously? Was he that capable? Or was he just going to summon another one with the belief thing. The latter was more probable.

I turn away as he leaves the clearing, and sit down cross-legged. I focus on all the good thoughts I have, trying my theory that magic might also be summoned by light. Determination fills me. In my mind, things pop up. But they aren't memories, though. They're all… things that have to do with the future, whether it is mine or someone else's.

_The fire in the hearth is blazing. A rather young looking short-haired man strides over to the chair at the side of the room, where a just as young blonde-haired, pale-skinned woman sat knitting a pair of socks. She looks up, smiles, and drops the socks to the floor as she stands. The two kiss for a short moment._

"_Did you find them?" the woman asks._

"_Now, Anastasia, do you really think I wouldn't?" the man retaliates._

"_That's great! Tell me everything, Will! I want to know more!" the woman, apparently Anastasia, exclaims joyfully._

_The man, apparently himself named Will, smiled gleefully. "Anastasia, there will be time for that later. Right now, I just wanted you to know that I have to do a task to join the Merry Men," he said._

"_What sort of task?" she asks. "Stealing, I presume?" Anastasia smiles knowingly, like the question is obvious._

"_They don't call it stealing, they call it 'taking riches to give to the poor'," Will joked._

"_Either way, it's still stealing."_

"_I know, but at least it's something I'm good at."_

"_Who do you have to steal from?" Anastasia asks._

"_Some passerby. The men say that he wears strange clothes, comes from another land, speaks with a dramatic tongue, and calls himself 'Junior'. What kind of a name is that?" Will queued._

"_One either filled with honor or one filled with shame," Anastasia answered deviously. They laugh and kiss again, and the scene shifts._

_A girl with brown hair and medium skin is walking down the staircase. "Dad! Can my friend come over later?!" she yells into the other room. She walks in, and the room apparently is the kitchen, where said father was cooking._

"_Which one, Clever Kat?" he asks._

'_Clever Kat' sighs. "Junior," she replies. Her father raises an eyebrow. Kat realizes that he really doesn't know everybody's names. "Tall, tanned skin, ultra-blonde pompadour, the one you called my boyfriend once," Kat explains._

"_Oh," her father says, getting who she meant. "Yeah, sure, for what?"_

"_That tree house experiment we've been working on for the past, like, two weeks dad, don't you remember?"_

_He pauses for a moment. "Oh, right, that one," he replies, going back to mixing the white cake batter he was making. "You know, you might just be too young to be investigating time travel," he remarks._

"_Henry Barker!" a woman exclaims, making Kat's father jump and nearly spill the batter. "You know, you really ought to let her. All you do is talk about your experiment, the Sparticle Project, which is in a top secret location you can't even tell me," she exasperates. "You know, you and that project might as well be a married couple," she adds._

_The man, named Henry Barker, rolls his eyes. "It's not like I wasn't gonna let her." He goes back to stirring his batter._

"_Thanks dad," Kat smiles, hugging her father as the scene shifts again._

_A large, glittering sapphire blue figure appears on the horizon. As it comes closer, it is visible that the figure has large wings and is flying through the air very quickly. It comes ever more closer, and it is eventually completely obvious the figure is really a large blue flying dragon, wings and all. The dragon circles around a spot, then flies down gently to land softly on the ground, but still making a soft yet audible _thud_ on the soft, grassy earth._

_A person is in the saddle on the dragon's back, holding a neck spike. Judging from the attire and features, the person is male, but not exactly a regular human. His ears are pointed slightly, his stance is not entirely the same as a human's, and he seems too thin to be strong enough to use the large blue sword strapped to his waist._

_One could hear the dragon's breath as it came thundering out. Small, wispy trails of smoke come out of its nostrils as it does so. The man goes over to its face and rubs it tenderly. Thoughts that shouldn't have been able to be heard are._

You should go to sleep, little one_, the dragon says in a semi-feminine yet booming, deep voice. The entire thing is said over thought._

So should you, Saphira_, the man instructs, also speaking his thoughts. _It was you who flew over the whole of Alagaësia, not me.

I know that, Eragon. And I do intend to rest, as you should too. _The dragon Saphira addressed the man, Eragon, with great respect and kinship. Eragon nodded, and drew close to Saphira's body as she drew a large wing over him._

I hope Junior finds us where we are,_ Saphira thought to Eragon._

_Eragon audibly and mentally laughed. _The only way he would not was if he glitches. Again.

_Saphira herself chuckles. She looks to the nearly set sun on the horizon. _Oh, it was most definitely the most interesting thing, to see him glitch. An odd thing, too. Everyone panics whenever they see him glitch, but we know that it happens all the time.

I hope for his sake that when he next changes universes that he is able to fix that, if he has not do so already, I might add_, Eragon replied._

_Saphira made an odd expression on her face that was like a toothy grin. _Ay, that would not surprise me if that were so.

_Eragon smiles and shifts his head around to find a comfortable position._

Good night, little one_, the dragon coos._

And you as well_, Eragon replies._

_The two closed their eyes as the sun disappeared over the horizon. The scene shifts again, one last time._

_A bruised and battered figure stands alone in the dark. The person has a faintly shimmering, glowing hook for a left hand. The figure looked younger, and when it came closer it was shown to be a young man. He was probably fifteen, possibly sixteen at the oldest. He had gold, plated armor on that faintly reflected the light from the hook. The boy limped, showing he had more than just cuts and bruises._

_Behind the perspective that I was seeing through, a flash of light shown. Metal clanged as something dropped to the ground._

"_You again?" the boy asked, stopping his slow hobbling._

"_Are we really gonna argue about this?" a slightly high-pitched man's voice said._

"_Well, it's not like we couldn't _not_ argue sometime," the boy countered, voice squeaking a bit as he said 'not'._

_The other person laughed. He stepped just into view. All that was visible was the lower half of his jeans. "Your voice squeaks for the first time in weeks _now_," he retorted. "Oh, the irony."_

"_How so?"_

"_Let's just say that was my first impression of you, Josh. Although, you really should start calling yourself Marethyu from now on," the man implored._

_Josh, AKA Marethyu, sighed. "You really can be hard to get sometimes. I don't understand why Sophie ever understood you," he retorted._

_One could tell the man rolled his eyes at that statement. Anyone would in his shoes. "You really are worth less than the trouble I've gone through to save you, Josh," the man commented, stepping closer to him._

"_Junior, it's not like me and Sophie didn't go through trouble otherwise."_

"_Yeah, but I bet you didn't have to struggle your way out of Nidhog's underworld prison when it was sealed off," the man, apparently Junior- me- retaliates._

_Josh is stuck silent for a moment. Then he smiles slyly. "Figures you'd be the one to get stuck there, doesn't it?"_

_Junior- I really should say _I_- sighs. "You know what, I really think you owe me more than you realize. You'll understand later," I add quickly before he can object._

_Josh just sighs again. "Fine," he harrumphs. "Can we go now? You may not be bothered by the cold, but I sure am, and this armor only makes it worse."_

"_Sure, sure," I say, walking over to him. "Grab hold," I instruct him, and he grabs my right wrist, and off the two of us vanish in a small burst of white light._

"Junior…" Peter says, shaking my shoulder. "You have got to wake up," he says, shaking a little harder. "Wake up or you might burn yourself."

I groan, and I open my eyes to see him standing awkwardly off to my left side. On my right side, there's mixed emotions. The good news: I see that I managed to start the fire. The kinda-sorta bad news: the right half of my body is in the fire. My clothes look like they're half burnt-through, my jeans especially being made of 100% cotton, unlike my manufactured cardigan, which supposedly burns more slowly.

I scramble out of the fire, and then I look to check out the damage. Which, thankfully, astonishingly, amazingly, strangely, is minimal. My entire right mid-section was in the fire. Yet, no burns on my body whatsoever. Only my jeans and shirt seemed to be affected, and thankfully the underwear I was wearing hadn't- yet- caught fire. The flames on my clothes, as soon as I got out of the fire, ceased burning and sputtered out like they were extinguished by water.

My belt was burned through, my jeans missing a large section where the pocket should be, and my shirt had a couple holes that had burnt through. My skin wasn't even red underneath, though, which was weird, because Peter, despite having stood on the opposite side of me, was red-faced from the heat. Yet I wasn't burned, but I still felt uncomfortably hot, like the temperature outside was 120 degrees Fahrenheit (which is approximately 49 degrees Celsius or approximately 322 degrees Kelvin).

"That was weird," I remark.

"Um, that much is obvious to anyone who sees it," Peter agreed. "You were passed out in a pit of fire, yet you weren't burning!" he exclaimed, finally letting his anger go.

"Hey, at least I managed to make it," I retaliated. "You lost the bet."

Peter breathed in sharply and opened his mouth to say something probably completely angry and let loose. Still, he shut his mouth and reluctantly nodded. "Fine, you can be in charge," he gave in. I smiled a bit. Then Peter's expression changed to one of confusion.

"What happened that you passed out?" he asked.

I think about whether or not I trust him. I know who he eventually becomes, that much is certain. But there is still a gap in his history that might allow things to change. Maybe.

I decide to trust him. I tell him about the visions I had, and what had occurred right before them. I explained how I knew that they were my future not just because I was mentioned in all of them and even appeared in one, but also the fact that I… _felt_ my timeline's presence. All the other stuff backed it up. I was going to visit and meet and get to know all these people, in all these different worlds, and everything was at least for me, nearly surely for Peter if I could help it, turn out for the best.

**A/N: Alright, I hope you enjoyed! Also, please don't flame me if you don't want to read the last two stories. I will really help if you do for you to understand. Otherwise, you **_**could**_** go without doing so, and I bet everything here is either eventually explained; mostly because characters- AKA people in the fanfic and TV show or whatever- always asks questions. Nothing really ever goes unsaid with this story, I bet.**

**Okay, I'm not going to lecture tonight. I feel tired and exhausted, so I intend to sleep like a rock tonight. I hope I will. I'm posting this a little earlier than I anticipated, but that's because I read through it as I went along. I literally wrote the second half all in one sitting, and the first quarter was in one, just over the third eighth was in another, and that last tiny sliver was all I got yesterday before I had to leave to go get stuff done. Anyway, I think I want to go to sleep.**

**Good night, sleep tight, don't let the fanfiction bugs bite…**

**Hahaha, I made a funny.**


	2. Chapter 2: Trees Bearing Houses

**A/N: This is going to hopefully be clearing things up. I am imputing all these elements then delaying their endings. Everything hangs in the balance when you think about it. Seriously, I am also adding spoilers when I input these visions Junior is having. They will be later explained. There's a reason for everything, and nothing in Fairy Tale Land goes without reason or consequence. As for those who are reading my Q & A fanfic, keep the reviews going. Alright, I don't feel like blabbering on in the author's not today, so let's get to it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, storyline or plot elements of 'Doctor Who' or 'Once Upon a Time'. I only own the idea of my OC, but not all his elements, for the TARDIS and timelord stuff is still 'Doctor Who' plot elements.**

**PS: Last chapter doesn't really have a title. Just call it 'The First of the Chapters'. And, the title will make sense later… That's all!**

**The Definition of Pure and Dark**

**Chapter Two: Trees Bearing Houses**

"How many days was I asleep when we first arrived, Peter?" I asked.

He strikes a thoughtful pose, one leg forward and his right hand holding his chin. Then he replies, "I think a week. Seven days."

"Okay, then, plus seven more," I say, scratching the tick-marks into the piece of bark I had taken off a fallen tree. I was sitting on a log that posed as a chair currently, and Peter was standing a couple feet in front of me. The rock I was using to create the lines on the bark had a scoop-like end that worked well to serve its purpose.

Added to the two days since I woke up from my short coma, we had been in Neverland a total of nine days. We were already used to summoning food and water at will, though Peter struggled a lot at first, seeing as in his life he's had to take charge of himself, with no one to help him do so. I respect him for that, but it prohibits him from doing much of the things you can do using the magic of belief.

On that note, I thought back to my four visions. I had already explained some of what I knew about the first one, because I knew that Will- the knave of hearts, really- had to steal from some rich lord to be able to join the merry men and then get to steal the looking glass from Maleficent. Also, I told him about the possibilities of me being Kat's friend in the Sparticle-Particle World and the close friend of Eragon when he leaves Alagaësia to find out what lies beyond.

The last vision, however, had me caught for words. I didn't know much about the last book in the Secrets of the Immortal Nicolas Flamel series because I hadn't yet read it. I did explain that, while it was far-fetched, Josh Newman could possibly end up being Marethyu in the end. It actually makes sense, if you think about it in an insane, crazy way for long enough, but the reasons continue to slip even my mind after a short while. I think I have them, and then they wash away like rainwater into a storm drain.

"You know, you really need to work on that forceful telepathy thing, because even when you try not to do it, I still hear bits and pieces. It is very confusing and really can become an annoyance," Peter remarks matter-of-factly, making me jump and snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Sorry, but that time I wasn't even thinking about trying," I apologize. I stand, leaving the bark piece and rock on the log, and stretch my muscles, resulting in a dull metallic hum as they realign to fit my standing position. Peter raises an eyebrow. "It's not that I sit wrong, it's because timelords have realigning muscles that easily adjust to let them run faster and not wear out their bones and stuff as easily as humans," I explain before he can ask.

"Oka, whatever you say," he says. Peter rolls his left shoulder. I hear a rather satisfying/brunt/painful sounding _pop_ as the muscles in his shoulder get worked around and adjust only slightly.

"Don't try it yourself," I warn. "You'll only hurt yourself," I add.

"I noticed," he retorts, readjusting his shoulder so it fixes itself. No sound happens this time, but judging from the look of relief and the breath he had been holding for the last couple seconds releasing, he was feeling better.

"Alright, will you quit hurting yourself and come help me find some branches for building with later?" I ask him, and he nods. I start leading the way, and he follows behind me. I don't even need to look behind me, because the ground on which we were treading had more sticks and leaves than pine needles, which are exactly what Peter is used to treading on. So, his usually silent footstep is now rather utterly loud, but he still manages to stay quite when he feels like hunting to, as he says, "calm my nerves."

Other than that, though, I have been working well with him. In doing so, I have understood new things about this version of Peter's life. What it truly is almost knocks the fact that I can't ever go home out of the park.

Peter's father died when he was very young, and his uncle had to take over helping the family. Unfortunately, his wife, Peter's aunt, was strict and had to watch Peter whenever he wasn't doing chores. And, that literally means _watch_. Like, _24/7 unblinking owl eyes staring at him_. Luckily, or rather unluckily, Peter was able to take over providing for their family when he was twelve. And that was followed a month later by his mother dying of a severe case of the flu, which was rather lethal where he came from, especially in the winter. Peter has been living on his own since then, because his mother was an only child, and his father had had no other brothers or any sisters, and he definitely didn't want to deal with his owl-eyed aunt for the next how many years.

So, he was stuck alone, but he was able to manage. The village that he leaved near had a good market where he could sell his surplus kills, and that allowed him to likewise buy some other things he needed. He didn't scrape by, but it wasn't perfect living. More like making it alright, but still could do much better type of thing.

Very early on, we found that stuff that was more than provided for in Neverland was impossible summon directly near you. It would appear somewhere else, where the natural processes that took place normally take place happen the most. For example, fallen branches usually occur where there was heavier rain, usually near the cliffs.

I pull out our map of the island that I had constructed. I had tried to use magic to map the island, but I couldn't, even when I replicated everything I did to start the fire _and_ I even end up feinting again, but this time without the visions, which was both bothersome and welcoming. Bothersome because I couldn't make the map, and yet welcoming because I was able to avoid further spoilers in my future.

I mapped the entire island out during the past two days and nights because I never really feel the need to sleep anymore. Peter himself rarely feels the need to sleep, and he only managed to sleep for twenty minutes going from tired and drowsy to bright-eyed and perky twenty minutes later. Also, he only slept once since I woke up, and he says he only managed to fall asleep two other times before that, so really Neverland was probably doing the greater portion of the sleeplessness we felt.

But, what I didn't tell Peter: time seemed to be flowing in Neverland. Despite what was supposed to be, Neverland was aging, slowly but surely, and would continue to do so for what I guess is forever. So what if we age, though? Really, our bodies probably are aging so slowly that they don't even know they are. We probably won't even physically change for a long time noticeably. At least we still experience time.

We find a small pile of branches near the cliffs, about a minute tread from where we were to it, the sky beyond just barely visible in the distance, mostly hidden by the endless array of trees that covers the greater part of Neverland.

"Let's both make two trips," I decide immediately, seeing the size of the pile. Peter just nods, and we scoop up our loads of branches. We start walking back to the camp. "Do you think it'll be like this for the rest of the time we're here? Whether we escape or, you know…" I make that throat-slitting motion to indicate that I meant 'die'.

Peter shrugged his shoulders. "You know what, if Neverland really is all you say it is, then we should be able to live here for the remainder of our lives and never miss the outside world," he said matter-of-factly. Peter and I said nothing to each other until we had dumped our loads in the already growing pile of branches and wood we had collected for various purposes.

"What you said, you know, about your world and everything, why don't you just summon some sort of machine that will allow us to leave here?" Peter wondered.

I chuckled a little bit. "The only machines that would have the capability need a dimensional tear, or a rip in the fabric of the universe, or it would have to be the Doctor's TARDIS, which, might I remind you, is universes away and lives," I answered. "You can't-"

"-summon anything that lives, I know, you said that already," Peter finishes before I can.

Again, we reach the pile of wood. Peter and I pick up slightly smaller loads than before, but we still manage to pick up the last of it. "How much of this do you think is worth keeping?" Peter asks.

"I don't know, but I am fairly sure that the majority should either be saved for whatever we end up building in the future, as well as for arrows and spears if we ever want to hunt for a change," I reply. "The rest that isn't worth keeping, as well as any pieces we can't later use once they're cut, we should just use as firewood."

Peter nods with approval. We had been going through a lot of firewood, mostly because we constantly kept the fire lit. But, we had been sometimes been using the branches and larger sticks we found for torches or markers when we went wandering on the forest floor.

By doing so, Peter and I have already found great spots for tree houses, which we intend to build if we ever need to 1) get away from each other for a while, or we 2) just need to sleep somewhere other than the ground. The latter we both agree is a more than decent reason to start preparing to do so, and the former… Well, we both hope that doesn't happen for a long time, if ever. But, it still is best to be prepared.

So, Peter's idea is a small house that enables us both to sleep there, it is just big enough, plus have some of our supplies inside. There is a small area at the foot of the tree where the ladder that leads up to the tree house would extend from, so we expected to have a little outdoor campsite for anything we couldn't do in the tree house, for fear of possibly setting it on fire or there simply isn't enough space.

Meanwhile, my idea creates a larger space, with enough room for individual rooms if we manage to cram everything in tight enough. It is about the same distance from the camp as Peter's tree- about an hour or so trek through the woods, but it's in the opposite direction. Mine also has a ground-level campsite area that would work, but it requires us to move a couple boulders or just use them for whatever purpose we need them for. When I had found my tree, it was so perfect, I thought to myself, _If only there was some way to connect mine and Peter's tree houses if we actually build them_.

I suddenly have an idea. "Peter, what about doing some sort of tree fortress? Not just the tree house, but connecting them all, high up and only accessible by us," I suggest.

"Why do we need that?" he asks, rather confused why I would even consider we would have time to do so, even if the both of us could fly- Peter of course through the handfuls of pixie dust he collects from the lunar lotuses (that's what Peter thought up when I said they looked like lotuses and that they were powered by moon and starlight) we found in the trees, only found in the uppermost branches, just like in the regular series, and I can fly on my own without help- despite the two of us being immortal, and it would obviously take centuries to complete.

"Because, what about the children that come here in their dreams? The ones that wander in their sleep? Why not keep them away if we can help it? We _are_ able to live forever here, you know," I retaliate. "There is every possibility that we live here until Neverland dies, which I doubt will happen, because this place is frozen, even if it does, it'll be slow, and we'll probably have both somehow died by then."

Peter looks at me like I'm crazy, which actually is something he's been doing a lot recently. By now I thought he would've known that I'm effectively half-mad, just wrong in all the right ways. "You seriously think we'll ever be able to die, even by accident?"

Now it's my turn to look at him like he's a nutter. "Accidents happen all the time. There's every possibility that one of the two of us falls into the brackens of dreamshade, or we accidentally eat some poisonous berry that we can't cure in time. Neverland doesn't allow for us to summon everything, you know. There are limits to the things even I, creative as I am, can summon out," I monologue/lecture.

By now, Peter is used to my lecturing, and he shakes his head. "That's not what I really meant."

I'm stumped for a minute. Then it hits me like the sword he suggests one us would use for the dirty deed he's referring to. I gasp a little at the suggestion. "You can't seriously think I ever would." Then I pause for a minute. "Or do you mean you ever would?" I ask.

Peter looks down at the ground. For a moment I'm too shocked for words. _So he would. Or so he thinks_, I think to myself. "Peter, killing rabbits is one thing. You never went for a deer for a reason- you just couldn't bring yourself to do it. A living, breathing human being is a whole different story- and despite the fact that I'm not truly fully human, this still applies to me. Trust me, I've accidentally killed a woman." Then I laugh a little. "But she killed me first," I say. "And I didn't even try to kill her. And it wasn't by a sword, it was by a shockwave."

Peter raises an eyebrow. "What is that?"

I sigh as I remember that Fairy Tale Land- namely anywhere but the regular old earth without magic- didn't have television or actual schooling, let alone an understanding of an shockwave at all. "An explosion creates a wave of air that, when you are close enough to the explosion, can kill. The shockwave fades out as it gets further from the actual explosion, eventually becoming harmless and then disappearing altogether," I explain.

"I think I understand…" he says, thoughtful look on his face. His brow furrows at a sudden thought. "How did our conversation go from one of us dying to shockwaves again?" he asks.

I sigh. "It's something called 'you didn't know what a shockwave was', and I said that I killed that woman- not really a woman, though, a copy of the original- with a shockwave," I answer.

"Oh," he mutters simply.

We reach our camp again at this point, and I look up to see that the sun is beaming high in the sky already.

"We should really figure out what to do about the tree houses," I suggest.

Peter nods, then says, "I think we should just use my tree, because it requires less work. And, it doesn't need a ton of extra work to hold it in the air. Your tree house, however, is really high up, and we need to worry about it collapsing in on the tree then falling to the ground the second we complete it."

I sigh in exasperation. _No matter how hard I try to convince you that it'll work, you just keep saying yours is better. You probably just don't want to admit that mine is better, don't you?_ I think to myself smugly.

_How did you know?_ Peter asks me. I jump with surprise, and I realize that I accidentally created a telepathic link again. Not a forceful one, but still enforced accidentally. _Sorry about that. And, I didn't mean for you to answer. And, to answer your question, I know because my dad always did that whenever I tried to correct his mistakes when he either cooked something wrong or whatever. I know how to tell if someone knows that someone else's idea is better than theirs, but they just don't want to give up their idea because they want the credit._

I break the link, and then Peter puts his two fingers to the bridge of his nose and shakes his head in defeat. "I do not understand how anyone can read emotions like you. Fine, we can build your tree house, but only because you are leader."

I smile gratefully. "I thought you had forgotten," I remark, a little too smugly, but it still has the desired effect.

Peter rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "You know what, we should both build our own, then we can compare them both and compete for who has the better one," he suggests.

"Good idea," I agree. I had, of course, thought of it long ago, but I just let Peter figure out the option on his own, giving him the inspirational nudge here and there through my seemingly random words and actions. "So, I guess we both build them, then we choose which place to stay at?" I ask.

Peter nods. "But this camp- let us call it our base camp- will remain if we ever decide that we split up and live in our own houses."

"Good idea. Take over more of the island for less future cost," I agree.

Peter raises an eyebrow for a second, then he laughs- a childish, playful laugh that I haven't heard the like of for years. I laugh a little myself, mostly because Peter's laughter is contagious. "You can really act like somewhat of a ruler, Junior," he remarks between spurts of laughter.

I stop my laughing enough to compose myself again. "I know," I reply, chuckling ever so slightly one last time. I change the subject back on track. "Alright, then, it's settled: competition for whoever builds the best tree house. Space is not a factor, height is not a factor, and we both get to say our truthful opinions of the finished products. Deal?" I extend my hand.

Peter nods with a victorious smile, and takes my hand in his. "Deal."

And, he wishes he could eat those words and take them back three weeks and tons of intensive labor later. His tree house required my help to be able to stand- which I gladly offered when Peter said the platform the house stood on kept falling down. Meanwhile, mine was self-supportive where it wasn't held up by a branch or limb of the tree I chose. I had a mud coating on the outside, which took the longest of all the small projects I completed to create, and then I sealed it with a thick layer of glue to make sure it wouldn't fall apart the first time it rained. Peter made the glue for me, and that was my payback for helping him with his stilt house.

In the end, Peter made the little side house that in the series would end up housing Wendy, though I didn't know if it would in this version of the world or not. Mine was Tinker Bell's future hut. And, it was bigger than in the series. It had two platform extensions from below the mud-sphere that made up the main house; and, it looked pretty much like some sort of falling apart wasps' nest from the ground, but really it was more like some sort of budding flower, because I made bay windows that came out at angles on the outside and looked rather interesting and added to the layered effect I intended to create.

Peter rued the moment that he shook my hand in deal. "I can't believe you made _that_," he remarked, seeing my handiwork was well more than worth praise.

"Well, I _did_ say that being above the main tree line would allow for more space. And, I said that there didn't need to be a ton of supports the way I did it. I just used the existing tree. My tree house might as well be Ydrasil's cousin," I retort.

Peter turned to me, and had that super-confused, 'I-have-absolutely-no-idea-what-the-hell-you-are-t alking-about' expression on his face that I've grown used to over the past few weeks.

"Ydrasil is sometimes called 'The World Tree', and for a reason: it literally contains its own country inside it. There are rooms and large cambers literally grown into the wood, and the tree itself grew them for the various purposes they serve. Some of the Ydrasil's branches are wide enough to place three cottages end-to-end on a flat surface, and the tree itself extends through three Shadow Realms," I explain. Peter's eyebrow rises. "Shadow Realms are like different dimensions, like parallel lands, but they have entrances linked to other worlds. Ydrasil is the bridge between three, only one of which is connected to any other- the Earth. Without Ydrasil, there is no connection between the sky realm where its branches extend into and the underworld where its roots grow into and any outside realm. The trunk and main tree are only a third of the mighty redwood that is the Ydrasil."

Peter looks back up to the tree house. "Then how is your tree house related to the Ydrasil?"

I sigh. "Because I used the tree's branches and dug out the uppermost r=trunk, leaving the inner veins only so that I could build the darn thing," I answer. "The tree is really the house."

Peter seems to understand. Then he gets all confused again. "So, wait, what are we supposed to do? How do we choose a winner?" he asks.

I snap my head around to look at him. "I thought you knew!"

Peter's expression is sullen. "Then I guess we either move into the tree houses separately, because, despite your amazing place, I don't think I want to leave mine."

I nod, understanding what he means. His tree house was exactly the same as in the show, save for the fact that a queen sized bed wasn't shoved in there. Two padded mats were laid out, one for the both of us, and then there were some chests for supplies and a rack for whatever we needed to hang up. Peter had done all the detail work to make sure his place had every necessity for our use, whether we truly needed it or just could really use it for convenience, and it really was a fairly good house.

But, admittedly, mine was still better. It had much more space, allowed for a fire to be burned on either of the extending platforms without setting the place on fire or filling the house with smoke- I had made sure no windows were over the platform directly for that purpose. I even tested it out, and stayed the night with the fire going, letting it burn itself out, me not getting any smoke in the main house. It was seriously overkill on the perfect tree fort.

I sigh. "Well, then this was really just an extensive overuse of our time, then, wasn't it?" I admit.

"Yep," Peter agrees.

We both groan at the fact that we can't really choose a winner without fighting, which we already knew we had come close to a few too many times over the past three weeks. "Let's go back to base camp," I say in defeat, and Peter nods, and we leave to figure out what next to do to kill the time we had on Neverland.

And, when we get back, we've already decided.

"Why don't we explore all the landmarks we've been meaning to explore?" I suggest.

Peter considers this for a moment, then nods. "That sounds like a good idea. But, we should do so one at a time, and prepare for each of them individually," he amends.

I nod myself. I understand what he's getting at here: he wants really badly to explore the Echo Caves, but I know that we'll need more than just bread crumbs to mark our trail. Without a rope line to guide us, we'll be lost for sure in the caves. It'll take at me at least a decade to get out of there, if I don't starve or die of dehydration first. Peter, however, might never make it out alive. If we got separated, that'd be the end of him unless it was me that got lost, but then he'd likely follow my example and loose himself in the caves.

Plus, I wanted to try my hand at exploring the Dark Hollow. I wanted to see if I could set something up, if I could send a message to myself in the future. Peter thought the idea was crazy, especially because I said to him that the future is never certain, and it might never happen in this world, so he said it was a waste of time and energy and paper resources.

I discovered a little while ago that when you summon paper, no matter how much, it always destroyed a tree that wasn't required. I summoned a single piece of paper once, and then the tree I was sitting in disappeared. I was on a low branch, so that was a plus, but then the pixie dust and lunar lotuses rained down on me, knocking me unconscious, they hit my head so hard. They may just be flowers, but they weigh more than they should; it's like a light brick falling on your head- and I'm not exaggerating!

Then, later, Peter summoned a large stack of paper, about as tall as my tree house's tall tree that extended past the others around it, as a joke- not going to explain, but it was funny- and then a short, stubby tree next to it disappeared. The tree didn't even return when Peter sent it away, thus making the paper vanish into oblivion.

What I intended to do probably defied the laws of time, physics, the universe I was currently in, the laws of the multiverse, the laws of Existence- there are differences- and the laws of nature on so many levels. I seriously had to warn a certain trio, and see if I could help them in their plight against the future version of Peter Pan I already know will exist.

And I know because I saw it, in the time field, as one of the ripples/tears/peepholes that allowed me to see into this world. And that timeline, I think I finally figured out whose it was.

It was Peter's. But, there's a catch. I saw what looked like a long, shuddering ripple in the timeline when I first broke through the skin of the universe. But, I had that it was just me. Really, I think it has to do with Peter's identity changing slightly. That can cause chronal distortion. Maybe that's why I was able to see all the rips in space-time: because Peter's timeline somehow gets breeched by something that at one point wasn't existent, and then the next it was in his face like a rabid squirrel.

Plus, I already have a hefty hunch on what that someone- although more like _something_- was.

I merely knew I had to wait a couple millennia to prove it. Until then, I might as well try to shape the future in my favor, right?

Well, not if Pendor can help it. Who is he, you might ask? Well, he's Zoso's predecessor, as well as Rumplestiltskin's. He was the first Dark One.

**A/N: Cliffhanger time! I build the suspense as I add more and more story elements. Though, don't expect me not to elaborate on the Pendor thing just quite yet. He will come up later, but don't expect any promises that I won't insert a chapter or multiple chapters to describe some of Junior and Peter's experiences in Neverland so that you don't have this huge gap in your knowledge. Everything will be elaborated on at some point.**

**Anyway, besides that, another chapter of another story that I type really late at night. Guilty as charged, I am seriously a night owl. (shakes head in self-disapproval) I don't try to be, but I can't help it. I must've stayed up too late a few too many times when I first starting doing online schooling…**

**And, before you remark on that, online schooling is far from the same as online schooling! It is through a city school district, and it is- by legal definition- not the same as home schooling because of many legal technicalities and the fact that the school district providing for my state-wide-program gets tax money for the purpose of continuing school services for its students.**

**So, yeah, on that note, I am going to submit this then go crazy.**

**Wait, you can't go somewhere you're already at!?**

**-Anonymousguy101**


	3. Chapter 3: My Fault

**A/N: When I typed this up, the last time I looked, I still had no reviews. Not for this fanfic, at least. I still intend to continue, for whosoever decides to read a chapter or two of my story- at whatever point in time/ whatever story in chronological order- and they get hooked, I still intend to get some fans of just about every series I do a crossover with. So, yeah, that's that.**

**Um, I intend to try and go back and forth between this fanfic and my 'Doctor Who'/other series that get involved Q & A fanfic, so expect every other day updates on this and updates on non-update days for this fanfic, unless I get behind. I will try to have as short as possible periods of intermission between uploads, but I definitely still will be switching back and forth unless I go too long without letters/reviews containing truths and dares in that fanfic! I don't want to have 90% soap opera mellow dramas! [I intend to do an epic battle at the last few days- which might or might not get all the characters stranded in the alternate dimension they're currently in, whoever they are collectively by the end. {And, yes, I intend to keep all characters that I am asked to add in the fanfic, but they'll just be wandering in the fortress if they don't get any dares or whatever for so many chapters- which actually means Nico is the first to do so!}]**

**But, what about this fanfic? I will tell you now:**

**I will be imputing nearly three thousand years' worth of mellow dramas, important milestones, and stuff like that that will accelerate the plot and allow you to at least understand **_**some**_** if not all of the stuff I will be explaining when I involve the point where just plain 'Peter' becomes 'Peter **_**Pan**_**'. And, I will allow you to ponder on what it possibly could have been from the stuff I ended with last chapter. You should try and guess, actually! See if you have the closest answer!**

**Alright, I expect reviews, people. I know you peeps have been reading this, and I expect you to critique my work- just not flame it. No flames allowed to stay lit. PERIOD. That's my only rule besides not making them reviews what would be considered rated M by fanfic writers- most of the fangirls, I mean. And, yes, I am a fan-dude, just not a beheading, axe-wielding, psychopathic and homicidal maniac like I portray the ones in my Q and A fanfic to be. Those guys actually freak me the fudge out, so I really don't like describing the rather burning images that come to mind when I think of them (picture a person you know well as a friend, then garb them in an outfit that you deem to be morbidly deathly, and then, finally, set them loose with a grim reaper's scythe, and let them chase you until they kill you in the worst way you deem possible; then, THEY BRING YOU BACK TO LIFE TO DO IT AGAIN- but they kill you in some other freakishly morbid way, so, yeah…)**

**They are worse than even the most rabid fangirls, and, like I said, the ones that I consider crazier are the killers… Not the music group, by the way. …(stares off into space thinking of sister acting like and dressed up like a killer fan-dude) [shakes head to clear thoughts](goes back to sister ripping out his heart-) Stop thinking about that, stupid brain! (blushes) Sorry, I have a sister who kinda frightens me…**

**Anyway, on that happy note (rolls eyes), let's get on with the fanfic, shall we?**

**Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing save for my crazy plot ideas for Junior and the DNA combination that is him. Nothing of Doctor Who or Once Upon a Time is mine.**

**PS: My sister is a total brat. She doesn't like Once Upon a Time, and she also hates me. Just by reading the title, she said I was weird. She didn't even read the chapter as I hadn't quite typed it up, nor named it yet! (shakes head in disappointment/disapproval of arrogance) Well, anyway, she is a milestone for I'm doing a good job, actually, because she hates whatever is actually **_**good**_** unless it's a bracelet… Yeah, I know how to braid and make bracelets out of embroidery floss, and I enjoy it; so what?! Not like it makes me a bad person. That's actually a good thing in this world of '**_**All the double edged people and schemes…**_**'**

**Notice, I quote Lorde. She is a really good singer; I like her, and I mean her music. She **_**is **_**pretty, but not my type- You know what, just ignore my ceaseless bantering!**

**Man, I can get off track and transition in SO many ways… Back on topic, peoples!**

**PPS: I am sort of doing a crossover with a song I just found and really like by Imagine Dragons. Yeah, you'll get it later, and NO, I don't refer to the line that makes the song about two lovers arguing and splitting up, it's just the rest of the song. Okay, maybe make that line a **_**tiny bit**_** part of it, because Peter and Junior are, like, best friends, more or less. Not just tolerating, if you think so. You'll get that vibe in this chapter A LOT, I bet, so expect that. You'll see the song in the title. I don't own that either.**

**Side-note: I actually am thinking of Chef Hatchet and Chris McClain in the last episode of Total Drama Action when I write this. You'll see why in a moment. Those two are such an… **_**interesting **_**pair of hosts/host and cohost. If you can even call Chef a cohost in the practical sense… Whatever. On with the fanfic!**

**(scribbles/types: "**_**Note to self: try to further limit seemingly endless author's notes. They are NOT for complaining about life or making seemingly random comments that fit together in your head!**_**" *thinks for a moment* scribbles over note then crushes paper into ball and throws away "Don't do that," I say to myself.)**

**The Definition of Pure and Dark**

**Chapter 3: My Fault**

Peter and I decided to just leave the matter of using the tree houses alone. We both felt that our tempers and argumentative personalities and attitudes were near the breaking point of our held back and generally kind/caring outside. I.e.: we both knew that the other was close to cracking, as well as ourselves, so we decided to just not even talk about it.

So, instead, we just use them for storage and that kind of thing. Mine, though, is actually more for bulk items, because mine _is_ so much larger and has all the nooks and crannies, et cetera. Peter, moreover, agrees that duplicate items of what we keep on our persons should be kept in his tree house, which had literally every- and when I say every, I mean EVERY as much as I would mean 'feeling my food' if someone were to do just that- sort of space or slot or chest for stuff to put in already, so we just make duplicates of everything we keep, and then get rid of the extra baggage that we rarely use or just want to keep for future purposes.

Which, in Peter's case, actually is a lot more than you would expect. He decided to make an exact copy of his bottomless sack, actually, to hold all the non-food stuff he kept in there. Because, frankly, the spell put on the sack was originally meant for food and drink and travelling supplies, not life-time needs, like extra clothes- something Peter never found useful while traveling, and I agree that it made sense for him and his mobile lifestyle- my now dead iPod- which had come through with me when I had traveled world into the TARDIS, but the battery had been dead, and despite all my efforts, Neverland refused to allow me to charge it with belief magic- and stuff like that which were just random quirks that we couldn't figure out how to get rid of. Of which included a couple diamonds I accidentally summoned, a dwarf's pickaxe- no idea how Peter managed to get it, but it didn't originally have a name on it, so it wasn't yet claimed, which is a good thing; save for when Peter picked it up, because it somehow recorded his name, but it also revolved quickly between two others, one of which I knew was Peter Pan, and one other unknown future identity that I couldn't read because the names were scrolling back and forth so fast (and I say _I _couldn't read because Peter has yet to learn to read, but I intended to teach him sometime; he just knew how to find the correct spells for stuff in his mother's spell book because he could understand the intricate glyphs they were written in, for they weren't written in English and his mother never taught him English)- and a large chunk of metal ore Peter insisted I summon that nearly blew his head off when it flew out of the middle of the forest, probably from the depths of the echo caves.

Speaking of which, that's where the first argument between Peter and I occurred.

We first went exploring the less dangerous and less likely to get lost in places, which included the Neverland fountain- where I had to deliberately stop Peter from touching the dreamshade because he hadn't a clue what it looked like- the Dark Hollow, the Dark Forest- where I actually almost lost Peter because he said he saw "a light coming from somewhere in the distance" but I bet it was just an after image from looking directly at the sun- and the additional cave system that runs throughout the Neverland mountain, which actually is like some dormant volcano that formed from some ancient crater.

The caves- mountain caves, FYI- were relatively easy to map, and Peter just followed with a torch as a light source for the duration of the time while I mapped every nook and cranny on the map that I had made specifically for this- level for level, chamber for chamber. Although, it still took a while to completely finish, because the tunnels branched off like some labyrinth of dividing passages.

But, back on topic: the echo caves.

Everything started off okay. Peter was again holding the torch while I madly scribbled away to mark the passages that lead to the chambers, but I decided it might be best to use the side paths first instead of taking the main path that lead to the enchanted echo chamber.

Leaving behind a couple of markers- a carved circle in the smooth part of the wall next to a passageway branch-off, an irregular-looking hexagon made of sticks resting on a ledge next to another passageway, and a half-burnt torch in a sort-of divot in the rock face that allowed for a torch to be slotted in- we managed to fully map three tunnels. Then, when he reached the next one, Peter started to complain. And, for once, I knew when he was lying. I guess I figured out the origin of the saying, "The deeper the secret, the truer the echo." More than just a deliberate attempt at philosophy and trying to get people to be less secretive, I guess. Unless Neverland was trying to do that.

Which it isn't, or wasn't, and never will. I think.

Anyway, we got to the fourth side passage, and I started down it, but Peter for some reason held back. I wouldn't have noticed if not for the fact that he was my only light source to use to map the caves. Turning around, I asked him, "What's wrong?"

"I don't know…" he replies distantly. There is an echo to his statement, but it was garbled and all warped-sounding, Peter's voice and words being twisted and shaped into words, quieter and quieter, until, with the last quiet echo, I heard the word "lies".

"I'm guessing you do know," I rebuke. Then in a softer voice I say, "Come on, you know this place doesn't exactly permit lies without someone knowing. Anyway, it's not like there's anyone for me to tell if it's embarrassing. Trust me, I know these things. Not like anyone can hide from my prying time-vortex eye," I joke, elbowing him.

He smiles a bit, then sighs sadly.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather keep going," Peter finally says, starting off into the tunnel, his echo this time coming back more-or-less the same, and no "lies" can be heard at the ending, so I assume that means it's against what he feels should be right or he just thinks it's best to keep going, if only just for now. Maybe he wants to go down the main tunnel first, which he had insisted would be the easiest way to do this, but I told him that, "There are some things that truthful echoes are required for, and I don't think I have any to say that truly are worth it to the caves," before carrying on into the first tunnel, leaving behind the carving I had made quickly.

I left behind the bowl we had decided we should get rid of because it had a hole in the bottom on the nearest stalagmite, and followed after him, scrawling out the rough shape of the passageway until we reached the dead end…

…the dead end that fell off into nowhere really fast, with the stalagmite that seemed to just stand out unnaturally was directly before us in the middle of the pit. "Oh great," I mutter to myself. Somewhere down below, I hear a rock falling deeper into the chasm-like there was any way to do so- and I decide that I should pull Peter off back into the main passageway before he could get any ideas. "Let's go. I don't like it here," I tell him, pulling at his sleeve.

And, we were going down the passageway when the pathway that is summoned by truthful statements started to sprout out into the gorge, much less than it would've for a secret, but it _was_ something that I had neglected to mention solely to keep the TV show thing secret. But, Peter isn't all that bright save for the fact that he can understand just about anything I say once I explain the subject to him. At least, in details that he can understand, that is.

Peter, possibly against his better judgment and for his wild-side that satisfies his childish attitude, runs back into the cavern, and, sure enough, the bridge had started sprouting from the middle stalagmite and, at the far side where another passageway was opened into, there was another start to a bridge forming.

I run after him the short distance between us, but it seems… longer than it should be, like the ground was retreating from the cavern, somehow pulling me with it backwards. I reach Peter though, after a twenty-second struggle to move forward ten yards in what should've taken ten seconds.

"Can you tell me what just happened? Or haven't you seen it yet?" he jokes. It was his joke to make fun of my time-vortex viewing like it was some probing eye/mind that could see anything it wanted to, but not for the sake of convenience, which makes sense.

"Actually, I have seen it, Peter, so be quiet," I command.

He rolls his eyes as I'm about to continue. "You know, I _really_ regret letting you become leader."

Now it's my turn to rolls my eyes, but I add a sigh of annoyance. "You lost the bet, fair and square," I reply.

Peter's expression turns thoughtful. "You know what, I never quite understood that phrase…" he remarks.

"I think it had to do with some scenario in someone's life, and they spread the saying, and eventually people never really stopped saying it, despite the missing origin, which I think your world sort of neglects most of the time. Too much else to do with your study of magic and all that stuff," I answer, and Peter stares at me like I just slapped his grandmother. It's only then that I realize stuff has gone too far. _Oops…_ I only just have enough time to think when Peter starts countering what I just said.

"Okay, did you really just say some sarcastic or meaningless comment you aren't even sure about?" he counters. I nod once, just to see what he says next. His expression turns bitterly sour and hard. "You know what? I kind of hate how you always are so quick to judge my world from the tiny sliver of it you've seen and what I do. Do you seriously know what I've been holding back on for the past few weeks?"

Behind him, the bridges are growing longer with each word, bit by bit. At this rate, Peter's totally going to crack and fall apart, his calm, peaceful sanity replaced possibly by a temperamental child's behavior towards a parent who just took their favorite toy out of their hand for them just randomly saying something they probably shouldn't be, let alone have ever heard.

"Um, not really," I confess. The bridges inch forward a tiny bit, but not any drastic amount.

Peter's already angry expression turns the tiniest bit sourer. "You know what I think about when I hear you say things that would make someone think my world- this world we're in, even- is all about _magic_?" he demands.

"Uh, no; and, I think if you manage to tell me, you'll blow a gasket," I reply swiftly- but a little bit too swiftly, like I tried to make it obvious I was trying to avoid further discussion.

Apparently, I learned the true meaning of red-faced. Everything else- unless it's severe sunburn, maybe- is going to be pink-faced unless it seriously is the color red, red like apples or cherries. And, from here, there's no stopping the bitter torrent of words that come from Peter. "Do you want to know what I think? There's absolutely no way you can get more fake than making up words and topics. Sure, you have proof of some, but I seriously don't get your use of random words that you just seem to make up on the go." His voice is getting louder, but the rock face bridge is silently creeping forward and back, like it's debating whether or not to use his words as lies or secret truths. Of course, to me half his words are lies, but to him they're obviously true, otherwise he'd never have said them.

"I believe we should-" I start saying, not noticing my poor choice of words until it's too late.

"You. _Believe_. What?!" he shouts a little too close to my face. I remain silent, all thoughts accept the raging debate in my brain whether to run or fight this off. Of course, my brain trying to rule in favor of running, because this is words, not a physical battle I'd probably lose to Peter anyway. I start backing up a step or two, but Peter, being just as tall as me, but stronger from years of hunting experience, grabs the front of my shirt, my precise original cardigan that I fixed after it was burnt, and holding me up in the air, legs dangling, using strength I actually until then didn't know he had. Peter seemed too slim to pick 120-lb me up, but I guess he was more than strong enough.

_Maybe it's from the adrenaline he's raging in_, I think to myself.

"Now, I never want to hear your pesky voice again. Not for the rest of today, not for the rest of the week, not forever!" Peter brutally shouts in face, throwing me hard against the rock wall and storming off before he has a chance to see me auto-relocate.

I remain conscious, but what I see in the time field is something _darker_ in Peter's timeline where I had just left. Some sort of foggy, deep-dark blue haze in the vortex surrounds me for the brief second I'm in the time vortex, and I exit it just as I reach the normal bright red and green section that forms Peter's true timeline.

I manage to think to myself, _Weird that it is so short; not even a day of darkness._ Then I stop myself thinking, holding onto my slip-up, but not for the fact that it was a mistake in words. It wasn't even a true _mistake_, though. Not really, when I think for a moment on the topic.

Looking around, I see I'm on the scenic beach Peter had insisted be the stand-in center of the island, because the true middle was in the middle of the river, just ahead. He had said that the cliffs above were slightly less of a convenient location to use, and I agreed with him at the time. He was right, of course. It was closer than the cliffs, and, despite the fact that all our camp locations- base camp and tree house storage units- were located on the other side of the river, more of the island was actually on this side of the river anyway. So, it made sense to go for the greater land mass and just use the beach. Besides, who could say no to a beach?

Well, even if the beach was full of pebbles, hurt to walk on barefoot, and the water was as cold as a glacier- not literally, but it was still near-freezing- so that made it not quite the beach no one turns down to go play at and swim at and suntan on, something which never really can happen in Neverland, because the sun is either blocked by clouds or it's simply night, which is actually a lot longer than day, hence why most people consider Neverland with a starry night sky when they think in real-life terms.

I decide I might as well take a walk and try to find our camp the long way. It's already nighttime, so it's cold outside, and I can see my breath in front of me, but I don't really feel all that uncomfortable. I've been growing used to the heat from having two hearts instead of one quite well, and now is when I find it to be greatly welcome.

Starting to walk along the edge of the water, I walk out to where the ocean that surrounds Neverland is at the mouth of the river. As I walk, I try to think about what Peter meant when he said- albeit in his mind, but I still heard it clear as a bell- that "my world" was probably the most greatest of the lands in my mind, but if he went there it would be the dumpiest place ever. And, he said it in less appealing words, and I mean Fairy Tale Land swear words that I never heard of before, but I still understood were meant to be curses pretty easily.

Thinking about it just made my head hurt from over thinking it. Not coming with any satisfying answers, I decide to turn to why I know for myself that that isn't true.

I think of the way my world is: war, hate, crime, music, iPods, human population of several billion, disease that we know how to cure, disease that still kills, things that go wrong…

…like my 'accidental' survival when Erin- AKA the Elliot clone that I have only just started to consider even remotely possibly human and worth actually naming- left me for dead and to be purged from memory in a crack in space-time. Which, to my surprise, to her surprise, and to my survival, didn't remotely work out. In fact, it was the way I was- in a way- created anew.

The TARDIS saved my life. Peter suddenly is the responsibility that I never thought I would get- someone that I have to help keep sane while I continue to slowly go mad over and over again, someone to help keep living, that sort of thing- and he is a handful of a piece of work. A soft shell on the outside, an oddly fluffy and yet still empty inside, gaps allowing for bitter feelings and darkness to seep into his supposedly bright and perky and dare I say pure outside. Compared to the attitudes he's sometimes had, this was like lighting a tree on fire and Neverland sinks into the water, leaving us swimming in the middle of surging water filled with mermaids.

_Mermaids_, I think of suddenly before I can step in the water by accident. I sigh when I manage to not step in the water but stop with my foot hovering directly over the edge of the water flowing past, the tide pulling in and out, slowly retreating with each tide. I step back a good distance, then start running like a madman- which I seriously ought to consider I am- to the edge of the tide and nearly touching it before pushing off the pebbles to jump in the air, the watery tide filling the slightly dug up space I just created with silt and then retreating to leave behind a smooth and not trampled on surface.

But I don't think about that as I make myself fly through the air, still carrying through with my super-powerful jump, then I cease my flight to land with a tumbling roll on the mossy, grassy surface of the other shore, several meters above the surface of the water. Picking myself up, I get into a crouch and look behind me.

I look back to see that my efforts to cross the nearly twenty meter wide river were well worth it. I had flown a couple extra yards from the edge of the bank before rolling in a summersault to slow myself and not hurt an ankle or something, but I still heard the loud resonance of metal in my ears as I crouched low to the ground. I stand up straight, but the feeling in my muscles is wobbly, and my back and shins feel numb and like pulsating jello at the same time. Which is possible only for me in the way I mean, because I have two nervous systems, so I feel numb in my flesh one, and like jello in my electronic circuit one.

I shake off the feeling as I stretch my back out and hear a metallic hum in response. Every time I do something that involves my TARDIS DNA now, it's almost like I get more and more metal-like qualities…

I hear for once the fleshy crunch/pop noise as my back realigns the way it should be, and I stand up straighter, feeling in my legs returning. I stop stretching, deeming that I shouldn't do more, or risk the still human parts of my body- not sure if I have any, though, since humans and timelords are so alike in outside appearance- to be damaged. I turn back towards the woods, and follow the trail in the woods that existed for a long time before Peter and I even got here. The trees don't really block my view of the ocean from the left side, so I just keep walking, looking to my left-center, towards the sea that stretches out endlessly to nowhere and yet everywhere.

Mermaids can travel the realms through the seas. There are realms that solely consist of water, a seemingly endless height of water, the water still radiating with the light of some unreachable sun in that realm, but the mermaids still reach for it, and they come up here, or in the Enchanted Forest, or on the regular Earth. Hence why scientists still have yet to catch a mermaid: they can slip between realms with the flick of the tail, and then, before you know it, they've vanished into some other distant land only they can reach or somewhere they know you can't follow.

As I reach a break in the trees- a familiar one, actually, because this is where Regina and Rumplestiltskin summon Ariel when they need Pandora's Box in Once Upon a Time. _Too bad I didn't see the ending…_ I think to myself. Literally, one episode left, and I had just dropped out of the world. And I seriously hate the fact that everything is so… so… _different_ for now.

_For now, just for now, *- I mean, Junior!_ I slip up in my thoughts, but of course I nearly think of my name in Gallifreyan. Of course I have a true name in Gallifreyan, of course I have an English equivalent, but the wrong word said- even thought of, especially here in Neverland- can be disastrous to the events of any particular world, thus resulting in dangerous paradoxes.

And, all of the paradoxes that I've already probably created are bad enough to possibly rip the whole of the structure of this universe to shreds if acted upon. I need to continue to do what my timeline specifies, or the cracks in time I create will guarantee that I never existed to do them in the first place.

Shaking my head, I push those thoughts to the edge of my consciousness, then shove them past into the void of inky blackness that exists in the back of my mind, losing the thoughts intentionally, but they'll still come back eventually. I decide it's best to just enjoy the walk while I have it, and I continue my walk back to camp, but a little more slowly this time, taking in my surroundings piece by painstaking piece.

I close my eyes, and breath in the air deeply through my nose, exhaling through my mouth, tasting the slightest bit metallic of ozone, possibly from the storms over the years and all the lightning generated by them. I open my eyes to a whole new picture that's still the same as it was before, but I still view it so much differently.

The ocean is a dark, inky blackness to my left, the jungle on my right an impenetrable wall of trees and bushes, both of which hide unknown hazards and dangers, I'm sure, but I have yet to see any with my own eyes. I see a bobbing head in the water, and stop in my tracks to turn and see the first of many mermaids I'd end up meeting.

"Hello," says the mermaid, her voice soft and smooth, yet still somehow the kind that shows someone that you aren't exactly worth the extra effort to flirt with. Which, for actual mermaids, is just about everyone.

"Hi," I reply, smiling softly, raising my hand to wave a little.

She swims a little closer to shore, not that I notice right away. She does so little by little, and not until she's halfway between where she was and where I was standing did I realize she had even moved. She does so while we talk, though, so I have reason to be distracted by her voice- it's like a siren's, actually, which makes sense, since mermaids sometimes have the gift to speak so smoothly as to lure in sailors for sacrifices, I bet, to Ursula.

"I'm Arienea," she introduces herself. (pronounced: aer-een-ay)

"I'm Junior…" I say back to her. My knees for some odd reason feel a little weaker, my back a little less straight, and I am starting to notice her getting closer.

"Nice to meet you, Junior," she says, still smooth, but not quite in the buttery-knee inducing tone. I notice that I'm bending my knees slightly, and I stand up straighter. Now is when I realize that she indeed got closer over the few seconds we had spoken so far. "You are not a human, are you?" Arienea asks.

I smile slightly at the thought of how easily it was for her to determine that. Which leads to the thought of how she actually figured it out anyway. "How'd you guess?" I intrigue.

Now is her chance to smile. "You have body of flesh and yet of metal. You attract me like a shark to an injured fish," she replies. Her formality is something I'm rather used to at this point, but I'm used to people- namely Peter, since I have no one else to talk to save for the developing voices of reason and chaos in my head, which NEVER HELP ME in any way, shape or form despite their trying to sway my opinion in their favor constantly, which takes getting used to and a lot of patience to not make me blow a gasket- accepting my alternate speech compared to that of others, even on Earth right now. It's, what, still only 1,000 BC, isn't it?

"I can understand that," I reply gently, trying to match her tone but still falling short of the soft syllables that flow like ocean waves then crash on the shore so softly, gently, yet with the force to wear down even the toughest rock over time. That's something about water I always contribute to the 'Waters of Mars' Doctor Who special, where the water seeps everywhere and has absolutely no way to stop itself from infecting nearly everyone with a deadly virus or some sort of organism that possesses several people and turns them into beastly creatures.

This is one of the more… frightening (?) and questionable episodes, but it still has a turn-out that somehow proceeds to amend history, if only just a little. And, not as well as the Doctor had planned. People sometimes accept the fact that they have to die in the future, near future, and they make sure that it happens. Even if it means suicide.

Arienea poises her facial features into an intrigued and curiously persistent expression à la mode (everything at once/all in one in French). "Now, why would you think _that_?" she asks, slightly smug almost.

I think that I might've been projecting my thoughts into her head when I feel the mentally powerful urge to sit. I do so, and Arienea sends me a thought that bluntly states, _Understood?_

"Yes," I reply, nodding. Her triumphant expression shows her pleasing in her work. "Are you telepathic?" I ask, my turn to be intrigued.

The mermaid nods. _My people can't speak with a voice under the surface, so we use thought instead of our useless voices_, she thought-messages to me.

I consider it, and then I think of the fact that I should probably already know this stuff. But then again, when put bluntly in English, it becomes the words 'psychic mermaids'. You understand what I mean? Anyone back home would've laughed at it until they had some form of proof or logic that would allow for it. Which, frankly, is hard to come by.

"Yes, think hard, child," Arienea insists, and I continue to do so, but my thoughts shift back, against my will, to my fight with Peter. Which, when I think about it, was all but one-sided. "What problems ail ye, child?"

"I had a fight with a friend," I state flatly. "More like a one sided argument, though, because I didn't really get many words in."

She quirks her head at this. "_His voice was deep, and it was dark; it spoke of truth, like the scratch of bark_," she chants once, then breathes deeply in and out, like nothing at all had just happened.

I however, am broken out of my trance-like thoughts. I look at her with confusion and she answers the question on my mind. "I am not just your average mermaid, He-Who-Sees-Time," she says simply. "I can perceive that which is to come, that which can become, and that which shouldn't become," Arienea continues, her voice turning less flowing and more like the sound of distant waves crashing on the shore, rolling and thundering noise that radiates with life, yet of knowing beyond her own.

"I see," I reply. And, that I say and mean literally. What I see of the time vortex is her timeline now- something that hadn't happened once yet to me, even when deep in conversation with someone. I always shifted to their timeline, but I felt a nagging feeling to continue on, and not soak up their details. But this was different. Her timeline to me was like a shopaholic to a huge one day sale- attractive and totally unavoidable. I felt that nagging feeling egging me on, pushing me to see her timeline.

At the same time, if as if someone is breathing down my back, which I think is Arienea doing the same thing I'm doing to her to me. I continue seeing her life, though, able to for once in quite a while make sense of what I'm seeing:

_There's light. Bright, bright light. The surface of the water calls to Arienea, likewise in mind's eye to me, for in this memory I _AM_ Arienea. I am her tail, her torso, her long flowing hair in the water floating behind her in the current. She heaves up one last time, and finally breaks through._

_Arienea hears the sound of three others behind her: her two younger brothers and her younger sister. Breathing in the fresh air, she opens her eyes to a beautiful sight: Neverland, in all its shining glory. The sun, low on the horizon, feels warm and dry on her skin, her so fragile skin, but she doesn't care. Her brothers and sister gasp as they behold the same sight._

_Then, with a bright, bright burst of light, a shining blue light, a white and misty fog rolls over the water, concealing the four from view, but still allowing their watchfulness to continue. They watch in awe as the swirling, twisting mass of vapor shoots off so fast they nearly barely miss it._

_Then, as soon as it appeared, the fog and shooting cloud disappear and fade away, and then, a moment later, a weak voice shouting in the distance, words indiscernible over the great gap between the voice and her ears._

_Arienea turns to her siblings. "Go, go home! Go, Tera, Eckno, and Aergon, go! And hurry! I'll follow later. I have some business here to attend to," she instructs, and the three all comply, swimming back underwater in the order of their names called: first the splash of red hair and a fiery orange tail; then the dark chocolate-colored hair of her oldest brother, blue tail trailing his torso; and finally her youngest sibling's white-blonde hair and his silvery metallic tail, glittering like gems in the light of the now rising moon._

_Turning back to the island, Arienea swims rapidly as possible to the island to see what as the matter, deeming that she needed to travel upriver._

_Within minutes to Arienea but mere seconds to me, the memory advances to when she next broke surface._

_The moon is barely anywhere different than before, but the sun, the bright, bright shining sun, is long since gone. Peter, whom Arienea had no clue of names, read a bit of his timeline. She developed a prophecy that seems to hold true right then and there, even today, and we recite it in reality at the same moment:_

"_This to hold true, the life I sought for you; for you aren't mine, but we are still held true._

"_Anger, hate and rage: they prove to fill up the page; but the shadow will turn, the life, the soul to discern._"

_Three voices are heard: Arienea's in the past and present, and my voice here and now when she speaks. Her prophecy was meant for me, she/I realize, and even as the memory carries on, she/I wonders why it isn't for him…_

**A/N: Another cliffhanger!**

**Now is when I say that the next chapter has a different P.O.V. It makes sense to use Arienea's perspective, then possibly switch back to Junior's in the end, though as of right now I'm not entirely sure. Well, we'll see how it turns out.**

**Um, I think I had a couple things to say in here, but I'VE FLIPPIN' FORGOT THEM!**

**(sighs angrily) Screw my clever yet forgetful and wandering mind! Whatever. I still love me.**

**Although, the saying that says self-praise is a bad thing kinda holds true. Not that I don't doubt my skills, you just can't go on saying they're awesome. Everyone has their flaws, everyone has a weakness somewhere in the things they're good at. Even if they don't know it, or they simply refuse to admit it, they still do.**

**Talk about me going all Zen and philosophical. That is what I call 'Buddha-speak'. Not really, though, I just made that up right now, but I think it actually works. (shrugs with a I-think-so-but-I-have-absolutely-no-way-to-be-sure look on face) Okay. I'm feeling low on energy, but still feel the need to stay awake. Probably because I'm in my office, with the bright overhead light on. I have got to figure something better than typing late at night to do so I have a reason to stop typing so late!**

**That way, I can be all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed so that I can work better and hopefully improve my work just that slightest bit that'll really get this fanfic going. Any who, I think I am done for night.**

**Sleep well, peeps!**

**Note: à la mode is French for 'in it all' I think, or something similar in wording; literally means all inclusive, unlike the definition that most people consider it to mean: super-extra-ultimate-ubber-goober-awesomesauce-tas tiness-mouthwatering flavored-tasting chocolate cake; most of the time chocolate I should say.**

**Whatever. Good night, peeps!**


End file.
